


DR: Worlds of Despair

by Hunter_In_The_TARDIS



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Fan Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), Multi, SYOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25356178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hunter_In_The_TARDIS/pseuds/Hunter_In_The_TARDIS
Summary: There are more Ultimate students in the world than Hope's Peak can accommodate, and now it's their time to shine... in a killing game with a twist. [SYOC]
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Prologue

Despair had swept across the world in a single, devastating wave, scouring away the pinnacles of human achievement like dried food on a plate. In the ensuing chaos, the concept of humanity became lost to time. Now, there were only the predators that revelled in the anguish of others, and their prey were almost extinct.

The Tragedy began at Hope’s Peak Academy. The 77th and 79th classes were confirmed to have perished on the first day, but for a long, long time, there was no news regarding the 78th class. No one spared them much thought. If they hadn’t fallen with Hope’s Peak, they’d likely been killed in the anti-talent movement that had spawned back in the days of the Parade.

Or so everyone had believed, until one day in March, when the world switched on their televisions to see Naegi Makoto and his peers through surveillance footage. The fifteen (only fifteen?) students were locked within Hope’s Peak Academy, their memories wiped, and were told by a flippant teddy bear that they had to get away with murder to escape the school.

It is now 23 days into the second killing game. For almost a month, the battle between hope and despair had subsided. Both sides were waiting with bated breath to see whose ideology would prevail.

“I bet my ass that ain’t actually Kirigiri,” says Amano Katsuhito to his beloved tosa, gesticulating aggressively towards the masked corpse currently on-screen. "I mean, what would the killer get from putting a mask on her, right? Somethin’ stinks with this case."

Then the corpse explodes. The dog leaps off Amano's lap and begins to bark at their stolen TV as if she'd discovered a bomb. She's found a fair few lately, though it's usually _before_ they blow up.

"Tsubasa, down," Amano says distractedly, leaning forward to place a firm hand on her back. He's too engrossed to remember to draw back afterwards. "Kubo's tryna sleep."

"Not anymore," Kubo Shigeru mumbles from his futon in the corner of their dilapidated studio apartment, sitting up with a sigh. His stubble was a few days old, almost as dark as the shadows beneath his eyes. "Don't tell me what's going on. It's too early for this shit."

Amano complies, mostly because he hadn't heard a word Kubo said. On TV, the remaining five students had begun their investigation. Amano settles more comfortably into the couch and lights a cigarette, vaguely aware of movements around him. Kubo is probably getting ready for his morning walk-slash-patrol with Tsubasa. It doesn't feel right that Kubo will miss the most important class trial so far, but if Kubo doesn't care, then so be it.

The students are waiting for the elevator when Amano's stomach growls, startling him out of his daze. Kubo and Tsubasa had already left. Muttering a curse as he discovers his leg numbed, he stumbles over to the dirty kitchenette to rummage through its cupboards. 

Empty. Of course. Someone would have to venture out into town on Amano’s lawnmower if he wants something edible. He'd do that after the class trial, once Kubo and Tsubasa are safely home. If they aren't back in an hour -

It's then that Kirigiri finally reappears outside the elevator, looking alive and perfectly healthy, and Amano sprints back to the couch without a second thought. He lights another cigarette when the class trial commences, his previous one long since finished and discarded in an overflowing ashtray.

As the trial proceeds, a sense of unease grows in the pit of his stomach. He fiddles with the cuff of his jacket, distantly aware of his restless leg. Kubo hates it when he gets so twitchy, but medication is hard to come by these days. Maybe he’ll go for a run before his patrol in the evening… 

On TV, the students decide that Naegi must have killed the mysterious sixteenth student. Monokuma confirms that the cute, naive little Naegi Makoto is a murderer.

Despair… It seems no one is immune to it. The world is royally fucked.

The world seems to shrink around Amano until all he can see is the screen. Naegi sits on a chair on a conveyor belt, sweat streaming from his hairline as he trundles backwards towards certain death. 

Perhaps, if Amano hadn’t turned the volume up so high, he would’ve heard his apartment door creak open.

Perhaps, if the intruder’s footsteps hadn’t been perfectly synchronised with the falling block behind Naegi, he would’ve had time to react.

Perhaps, if he’d looked away just before Naegi’s death, he would’ve seen the person who struck him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my first SYOC and multi-chapter DR fic! The next chapter will jump straight to the killing game. If you’re interested in submitting an OC, please check out my profile for more information. I’d like to get started as soon as possible, so don’t delay!


	2. Chapter 1

Amano jerks awake with a gasp, one hand flying to the back of his head as he wildly looks around for his assailant. The room is empty. His head barely hurts. He's safe… for now.

His hands aren't bound, he notices belatedly. He spends a few minutes fiddling with the numerous bracelets on his wrists, twisting them between his fingers until they tighten enough to pinch his skin. He's alive. He's awake. He might just escape.

Once he can breathe again, he swallows his agitation and looks around. The room is decorated in garish colours and clunky furniture, and it's overwhelming enough to make his head hurt. There is a closed wooden door behind him. On the other three walls are a window each, with hints of sunlight streaming through the closed curtains.

Amano himself sits on a surprisingly plain chair, opposite a large back swivel chair that faces the wall. Between the chairs is a cluttered desk, holding a strange assortment of items that vary from a bowl of Hello Panda biscuits to a goddamn machete. He's not entirely unsurprised to see a framed photo of Monokuma in a graduation robe and hat sitting atop a brochure for Hope's Peak Academy. Of course this would be something like that. Just his shitty luck.

Amano clears his throat, raps his trembling hand against the desk like he hadn't just recovered from a panic attack, and addresses the suspiciously silent chair. "Oi. You just gonna leave me hangin' or what?"

The chair slowly turns, revealing a Monokuma unit that glares sullenly at him.

"You bastards are no fun," he sighs, sinking lower into his chair. "Here I thought it'd be exciting to leave you with your memories. But since you're all in such a rush to get started, let's get right to it."

He half-heartedly gestures towards what Amano recognises as an e-Handbook, sitting right beside the bowl of biscuits. "Help yourself. I know you followed Class 78's Killing Game on TV, so you're familiar with its functions. It's the rules and student profiles and all that jazz, but now it also has a text-to-speech function because I'm considerate like that. Why don't you have a listen?"

Amano reluctantly picks up the e-Handbook, simultaneously sneaking a few biscuits into the sleeves of his red shacket. Monokuma narrows his eyes but says nothing.

Compared to Naegi's e-Handbook, the one Amano is turning over in his hands seems to have received a significant upgrade. A sleek design, better graphics, and a front and back camera - but still no messaging function. He supposes it's for the sake of fairness in class trials.

The first thing he does is check his appearance on the camera app. There are no visible signs of ageing. His red hair is swept back into its usual style. He's as sexy as he remembers. Nice.

Next, he visits the page devoted to rules, noting immediately that there are significantly more than he remembers. He presses the button with a loudspeaker icon, and Monokuma's grating voice fills the room.

* * *

_Rule 1: Students are required to cohabitate within the Domes for the remainder of the unforeseeable future._

_Rule 2: With minimal restrictions, you are free to explore your surroundings at your discretion._

_Rule 3: Nighttime is from 10 pm to 8 am. However, your activities will not at all be restricted during this period._

_Rule 4: Littering is prohibited._

_Rule 5: Lending your e-Handbook to another student is prohibited._

_Rule 6: Sleeping outside the areas preassigned by Monokuma is prohibited._

_Rule 7: Violence against Monokuma is strictly prohibited, as is destruction of surveillance cameras._

_Rule 8: Anyone who kills a fellow student will graduate, unless they are discovered._

_Rule 9: The Body Discovery Announcement will play as soon as three or more people discover a body for the first time._

_Rule 10: Once a murder takes place, a class trial will begin shortly thereafter. Participation is mandatory for all surviving students._

_Rule 11: If the guilty party is exposed during the class trial, they alone will be executed._

_Rule 12: If the guilty party is not exposed, they alone will graduate, and all remaining students will be executed._

_Rule 13: The guilty party may only kill a maximum of two people during any single Killing Game._

_Rule 14: If two different murders by two different murderers occur at the same time, only the one whose victim was found first will be considered the culprit for the subsequent class trial._

_Rule 15: If innocent students continue to survive class trials, the killing game will continue until only two students remain._

_Rule 16: Monokuma cannot directly interfere with the students. An exception to this rule is made if any student violates a rule._

_Rule 17: Additional school regulations may be added if necessary._

* * *

Amano takes a long moment to process the rules. He hadn't guessed a single culprit correctly while following Class 78's Killing Game. These changes would make things infinitely more complicated.

"Don't look so glum!" Monokuma exclaims, much happier now that Amano had tasted his first dose of despair. "Hey, I know what'll cheer you up. Why don't you guess which student you'll have as your roommate?"

"My…" Amano's heart rose to his throat. "My what?"

Monokuma beams at him. "You heard me!"

He wouldn't even be safe while he slept.

Amano's chair falls backwards as he stands abruptly, slamming the e-Handbook down on Monokuma's desk. "Don't bullshit me. As if any one of us will go along with this!"

Monokuma cackles as he reclines his chair, smugly looking up at Amano with crossed arms. "You don't have a choice. There are no single rooms, and rule six prevents you from designating your own sleeping areas."

His head is spinning. He can't think of a solution. He's so stupid, so useless, and he's gonna die.

"Either share with your roommate," Monokuma continues happily. "Or don't sleep. It's entirely your choice."

Amano grits his teeth as he glares down at Monokuma, shaking with the effort it takes to restrain himself. The panic is rising again, flooding his lungs. Every breath feels like fire. His eyes are watering, like they always do when he's stressed, and he hates it because it makes him look like a fucking coward.

"Fuck you," he manages to say.

The stuffed bear parts his legs, revealing a puckered pink opening between them. "If you must."

"Gah!" Amano looks away in disgust. He'll have no trouble staying awake after that.

After a few moments of silence, Monokuma sits up with a long-suffering sigh. "Pull yourself together, would you? The Killing Game won't officially commence until the morning announcement tomorrow."

Amano hesitates. "...Why?" Whatever the reason is, it can't be good.

Monokuma claps his paws together. "Because I'm throwing you bastards a welcome party tonight, of course! Unfortunately, I'm busy with personally welcoming each of the guests, so I'm afraid you bastards will have to set up the party yourself."

"Wait, what?" Amano tugs at his bracelets in frustration. "Then what's the point?"

"Don't question my motives!" Monokuma snaps. "You have to help with the party, and that's an order. You also have to use the student roster to guess who your roommate is, and that's also an order. Now get to it!"

Somehow, this Monokuma unit seems more unstable than the one hosting Class 78's Killing Game.

Reluctantly, Amano sets his chair upright and sits down again before picking up the e-Handbook, scrolling carefully through the menu until he finds the correct option. There are portraits of sixteen students, and their details are written in English and Japanese. Amano finds himself on top of the list.

* * *

**Katsuhito Amano**

**Ultimate Lawnmower Racer**

* * *

Finally, some recognition.

He's surprised to recognise a handful of names and faces on the list. Unlike Amano, a few of them had actually attended Hope's Peak at some point. How had they survived?

"I don't wanna guess…" he says finally, eyeing Monokuma for any kind of response. "But I hope it's Hoshino."

"Hoshino-kun, eh?" Monokuma nods thoughtfully. "Interesting choice. Now, if you have nothing else, why don't you go outside and find out how terribly wrong you are?"

Such foreboding words. Amano has many questions, but he supposes the answers will make no difference to him.

He stands up, shoves his e-Handbook into a pocket, and faces the door. He's not ready - never will be. But there's only one way out now.

He helps himself to one of the Hello Panda biscuits in his sleeve before leaving quietly through the wooden door, hoping desperately that his face betrays no sign of weakness to whomever waits outside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still accepting OCs! Please PM me with your ideas first, as I have a fairly diverse cast at the moment.
> 
> Thank you for supporting this work. I'd love to hear your thoughts, predictions, and even ships ^_^


	3. Chapter 2

Monokuma’s office connects to what may be a lounge, but more closely resembles a museum for weird-looking furniture. For example, there’s a single-leg side table, but rather than with a leg, the glass is held up by a naked stone woman sitting in a provocative pose. Her head is stuck through a gap in the table, her neck arched and her mouth wide open to reveal a bunch of edible fruits. Amano looks at it for a few seconds longer than necessary. The pose is… very provocative indeed.

Across the room, a circular television screen shows a broadcast of Class 78’s Killing Game. It can’t be live, because Naegi is being executed again and, oddly enough, it turns to static just before the moment he should have died. That’s the exact moment when Amano had been struck on the head. He can't help but think it's not a coincidence.

A few feet before Amano is a gigantic open suitcase that faces the television. He wonders if it might be a couch, and his suspicions are immediately confirmed when the occupant of said couch suddenly sits up, revealing themself to have an excessively tall red flattop. 

"I have no interest in dying," the figure says flatly, not bothering to even look at him. "I'm related to an MMA champion and, if you try anything, I won't hesitate to fuck you up. You got that?"

Despite himself, Amano grins. This voice doesn't belong to Hoshino, but he knows it pretty well. "You're Kurihara, aren't you?" His excitement is evident. "I'm subscribed to your YouTube channel."

Kurihara doesn't seem to have expected that, if his uncharacteristic silence is anything to go by. After a long moment, he stands up and switches off the television, then turns around to give Amano a derisive once-over. Amano is surprised to see that he's wearing his signature accessory: a smooth white mask doodled all over in permanent marker.

* * *

**Toin Kurihara**

**Ultimate Fool**

* * *

"And you're the lawnmower racer," Kurihara remarks offhandedly, playing with the loose strings of his ratty denim jacket. "But don't flatter yourself - I only know because I checked the student roster."

Amano scratches his head, unsurprised but still a little miffed. "Great. Cool. Dismiss the love of my life and my greatest passion. That's fine, I guess."

Kurihara had always seemed so loud and vibrant in his videos - all sharing the common theme of mocking human social constructs and modern life. He's brilliant, witty, and unapologetically honest - the kind of person Amano wishes he could be. But that's not important right now. 

What’s important is that Kurihara is looking at him very intently, as if trying to read his mind. Amano waits patiently, hands in his pockets, until Kurihara finally sighs and gestures for him to take a seat on the suitcase-shaped couch. 

They sit together before the TV, knees touching, as Kurihara flicks through a bunch of on-demand shows. There’s a pretty big variety - all the shows Amano binges when the Killing Game isn’t airing and many more from all over the world. Maybe he’ll feel better if he watches some anime. God, he’d love a smoke right about now. 

“Tell me what you know,” Kurihara says quietly, his eyes fixed on the screen. “What happened before you got here? What did you learn from your conversation with Monokuma?”

Amano hesitates, casts a wary glance towards the security camera staring down at them. “Is it safe to talk right outside his office?”

Kurihara inches closer - close enough that Amano can feel warm breaths against his cheek - and lowers his voice. “Is this quiet enough for you?” His eyes are cold; there is nothing intimate about this.

Amano swallows his retort. He knows for a fact that Kurihara had used his influence to organise counter-riots at the beginning of the Tragedy, because Amano himself had joined a few of them on his trusty lawnmower. So unless Kurihara has been brainwashed since his last public appearance, the Ultimate Fool is the best ally Amano can hope for in this place.

“I don’t know much,” Amano admits. “I was home alone, watching Naegi’s execution on TV, and I suddenly got hit over the head… then I woke up here.”

Kurihara nods in acknowledgement, his fingers steepled and gaze distant. There are a few faded scars on his left hand. “That’s quite interesting, because I myself was attacked on the day of the broadcast. I have no memories between then and now.”

“So…” Amano frowns. He can’t help but think of Class 78’s situation. “You think you’ve had your memories erased?”

“...Perhaps,” Kurihara admits reluctantly. “I assumed that I’d simply been kept unconscious all this time. According to the number of Killing Game episodes available, that’s 23 days. But we don’t know what happened to you after you were knocked out, so it could be even longer.”

Something… could have happened to him? He shudders at the thought.

Kurihara shifts, turning on the couch to face Amano with crossed legs. He’s wearing dress pants that are only intact above the knee; below that, Kurihara appears to have cut small stars, circles, and triangles into the fabric. Amano genuinely has no idea what to make of this guy.

“Amano Katsuhito, is it?” Kurihara says casually, though the look in his eyes is anything but. Amano can’t help but inch away. “I have one question for you.”

Amano hesitates. “What is it?”

“Tell me this.” Kurihara leans closer. His eyes are stormy grey. “How far would you go to escape this place?”

Amano’s heart thunders. “I’m not- I don’t- That’s…” Amano looks away, burying his twitching hands deep into his pockets. “It’s too early to say...?”

Kurihara doesn’t seem to like that answer, but considering that he’s wearing that fugly mask, it’s hard to tell.

In one smooth motion, he stands up and dusts some imaginary lint off his pants. Amano follows suit, because it appears that their business here is concluded.

“So...” Amano says suddenly, remembering Monokuma’s earlier instructions. “Reckon the others have made much progress with the party prep?”

Kurihara snorts as he leads the way to the exit. “A bunch of Ultimates? Absolutely not.”

This sounds much more like the Kurihara that Amano is familiar with. About two years ago, Kurihara had famously received an invitation from Hope’s Peak Academy. But the hype around that had quickly been overshadowed by Kurihara’s response: an hour-long video in which he dragged HPA through the mud, condemning it for its overfunding while other government services suffered, and disparaging the concept of Ultimates altogether. Naturally, his invitation had been rescinded.

In hindsight, Amano notes as he follows the Ultimate Fool through the door, this had probably saved Kurihara’s life. Had he enrolled, he would have been in Class 78 right now, which meant-

“WAAAH!”

Amano recoils in terror, tripping over his feet and hitting the wooden floor of Monokuma’s lounge with a painful thump. “What the fuck!?”

Kurihara, on the other hand, remains standing in the doorway. Amano looks past him towards the source of the scream, and finds himself no less confused.

The doorway leads to a wooden platform that overlooks a vast, clear lake, surrounded by a lush thicket. The platform is connected to a ramp that runs parallel to the building, curving around its corner and ending somewhere out of sight.

Standing on the ramp, clutching the handrail as if her life depends on it, is a little girl who physically embodies the concept of _kawaii_... and has a large hook instead of a right hand.

* * *

**Megumi Nemo**

**Ultimate Sailor**

* * *

“S-s-s-sorry! I’m so sorry!” She lets go of the handrail to give multiple bows of apology. “I was just surprised! I didn’t mean to startle you!”

“S’alright,” Amano says soothingly, nudging Kurihara out of the way so he can stand back up. “Don’t worry about it.”

He’s not exactly good with people like her, but his dog had been in a similar state when he’d adopted her. He just needs to stay calm. 

Kurihara doesn’t seem to have unlocked that bit of wisdom yet, because he just stares unsympathetically down at Nemo. Amano thinks it’s a bit of an overreaction on his part: at about 150cm and weighing no more than 40kg, she’s probably the most harmless person he’s ever seen... if he ignores the hook. Admittedly, he’s finding it difficult to ignore the hook.

“What the hell are you screaming at?” Kurihara snaps. “Aren’t you the Ultimate Sailor? Aren’t you someone who’s brushed shoulders with the world’s elite? Surely you should have a little more courage than _this_?”

Nemo bursts into tears, and Amano decides he’s had enough. He’s a little taller than Kurihara and a hell of a lot more muscular, so he thinks nothing of kicking Kurihara in the shin. What a douchebag.

To his credit, Kurihara reacts with little more than a hiss of pain. “What was that for?”

Amano glares back at him, ignoring Nemo’s blubbering in the background. “If you recall, Kurihara, she was chosen and she was later expelled. It’s an opportunity of a lifetime, and fuck knows I would’ve taken it if they’d offered it to me.” 

He looks at Nemo, who’s slowly (though not very quietly) inching away from the fight. “She’s a victim of Hope’s Peak. Don’t treat her like one of those assholes who think they deserve the world.”

Beneath the mask, Kurihara is still seething. But whatever his response would have been is lost in the wind as another figure drops down neatly from the roof, positioning herself between the little sailor and the two boys.

The newcomer carries herself with a chilling confidence. Her features are strong and sharp, and she wears her leather jacket like a second skin. She tips down her sunglasses, revealing piercing blue eyes that examine the pair with derision.

“Bullying little girls, eh?” Her voice is calm, but there’s a tinge of murderous intent that has Amano backing away. “Pretty disappointing, coming from grown men like you.”

* * *

**Hinako Asamiya**

**Ultimate Sukeban**

* * *

“Actually, I was standing up for her,” Amano pipes up quickly. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Oh, yeah?” Asamiya rolls her eyes, entirely unimpressed with his lack of spine. “How about you get outta my sight then?”

Easier said than done, because Asamiya is glaring daggers at him from the top of the ramp and Kurihara is glaring daggers at him from the doorway. He’s contemplating just jumping into the lake when Nemo speaks up.

“Hinako-nee… Let’s not f-f-fight with our friends…”

The sukeban looks over her shoulder at Nemo, her long ponytail almost smacking Amano in the face. “In this situation, they’re hardly our friends. Do you really feel comfortable trusting them with your life?”

Kurihara snorts. “And we’re supposed to trust the Ultimate Sukeban with our lives? Fat chance of that.”

“Can y’all go fight somewhere else?” Amano sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just wanna grab some food and have a nap - not to mention we’ve got some stupid-ass party to plan.”

“Fuck the party,” Kurihara snaps. “As if I’m gonna sit around nibbling on hors d’oeuvres with known Hope’s Peak associates and criminals. There’s no way I’ll just roll over and give the mastermind whatever they want.”

“This is all my fault!” Nemo wails, sobbing into her hands - er, hand. “It really is b-b-bad luck… Why couldn’t I stay calm?...”

Kurihara groans. “Can someone make her _shut up_ -?”

Asamiya shoots Amano and Kurihara with a warning look. She reluctantly takes off her sunglasses, hooking them inside her leather jacket. When she places a gentle hand on Nemo’s shoulder, she looks like nothing more than a kindly older sister. “What’s this about bad luck, Megumi-chan? Help us understand.”

“It’s…” Nemo peeks out from behind her fingers, her eyes still watering. “Their red hair… They’re both unlucky…”

Amano scratches his head. “You know what? Fair enough.” He’d certainly brought his fair share of bad luck on others.

Kurihara just gives a quiet, bitter laugh. “Of course it’s something like that. Get out of my way; I can’t deal with you lot any longer.”

“Yes, let’s get out of his way,” Asamiya sneers, stepping out of his path and pulling Nemo beside her. “You can’t trust someone who has no respect for others.”

Kurihara doesn’t deign to give them another look as he leaves. Amano doesn’t miss him until he remembers that he’s still standing outside a psychopathic stuffed bear’s office, facing off against a sukeban and a girl with a hook, except he’s now alone.

He only really knows Nemo Megumi from following the HPA speculation boards with some enthusiasm. She'd set a few world records - mostly for being the youngest person to achieve certain feats - but she'd always been relatively low-key until her first photographed appearance with her excessively large hook. There was some buzz around her potentially joining Class 80, since there was no one else her age who could even hope to challenge her title, but - well, the Tragedy had put that to rest.

On the other hand, he's somewhat familiar with Asamiya Hinako, having seen her in civilian camera footage a handful of times as she expanded her territory. Her gang, named Rose Thorn, was expected to have about 150 members before the Tragedy kicked off. Asamiya herself had supposedly gone into hiding, but whispers on the internet suggest that Rose Thorn itself is still active and now protecting the towns they'd once raided.

Asamiya - despite being about three inches shorter - still manages to look down her nose at him. Her purple skirt is almost long enough to be stepped on. How she’d managed to climb onto the building’s roof and leap down with no trouble is a mystery. 

“I’m watching you,” is all she says before flouncing off, her ponytail almost hitting him once again. Her hair is blonde with dyed red streaks. Is dyed red hair also unlucky? 

He should ask Nemo… when he sees her again, because she’s now dutifully trotting after Asamiya, her blue twin braids bouncing with every step. They’re shaped rather oddly - like melon ball skewers, except the final ball is larger than the rest.

He’s hungry, and dying for a smoke. Considering the well-stocked kitchen available to Class 78, he most likely isn’t about to starve here. Perhaps he’d get lucky and find cigarettes too, since it doesn’t seem like he’s locked inside a school. 

Wherever he is, it looks… nice, peaceful, as if the place had been untouched by the Tragedy. The verdant foliage rustles in a gentle breeze, and the sun is about to disappear behind the tallest trees; judging by the time given on his e-Handbook, he’s facing west. The air is unlike anything he’s felt before - cool and crisp, as if from a time before humans. He’s only ever lived in cities - first in Tokyo, then Osaka. Killing Game or not, he’d never imagined he’d end up somewhere like this.

Amano feels a pang of nostalgia as he looks up past the clouds. He’d rarely looked at the sky until the Tragedy had dyed it red. In those days, everything was red - from the fires burning along the skyline to the pools of blood on the streets. At the time, he’d been living in Airin-chiku with Kubo and a bunch of acquaintances. Most of them hadn’t survived.

He vaguely notices that his hands are trembling. Hastily, he shoves them into his pockets and descends the ramp.

As soon as he turns the corner, the forest thins and gives way to a lush meadow, dotted with grazing sheep and cows. Amano takes a moment to stare at them in fascination, then sets off down a winding cobblestone path towards what appears to be a manmade structure.

It takes about three minutes at a brisk pace to walk from Monokuma’s office to the iron arch at the end of the path. Before him is a vast garden, big enough to accommodate a few trees, statues, and even a pond. One of the trees holds a nest, and Amano sees some kind of bird perched within. The flowers are blooming; apparently, they receive very good care from Monokuma. He doesn’t know shit about flowers, but every colour he could name is right before his eyes.

He notes that there are a few bees flitting about, seemingly drawn to a lavender bush in particular. Taking a few cautious steps towards the plant, he inhales deeply. It smells like summers in Furano.

He ignores the pangs of guilt in his chest. There’s no point in thinking about his mother anymore.

The cobblestone path continues into the garden, leading directly to the structure he’d seen earlier. The garden isn’t quite big enough to warrant a bandstand, but the symmetrical layout was certainly designed with it in mind. It’s built on an octagonal platform with four sets of stairs facing the cardinal directions, each connected to a path that leads into the garden.

With a frown, he ascends the stairs and looks around. It had been just a hunch - but he’s not wrong. Looking at the layout of the garden, the buildings at the end of each path, and how the woods around Monokuma’s office form a thick ring with no visible gaps, form an impenetrable ring around it all… 

The rules in the e-Handbook refer to their prison as the Dome. It looks more like a circle, but considering that flying is (probably) not an option, the name isn't entirely inaccurate.

"Oi, Amano, is that you?"

The familiar voice snaps him out of his reverie, and Amano whirls around to look for the source. There are two men approaching from the north, their arms laden with boxes of decorations. The taller of the pair lags behind as his companion ascends the stairs, watching the pair curiously.

The companion is a stocky young man, with tattoos covering every inch of skin from the neck down. The sleeves of his unbuttoned shirt are rolled up to the elbow, and a silver locket lies against his chest. He grins as he confirms the newcomer's identity, and places his box on the ground to exchange a brief, but affectionate, man hug with Amano.

* * *

**Daisuke Hoshino**

**Ultimate Tattoo Artist**

* * *

"It's been a while," Amano says cheerfully, as if they'd been separated merely by conflicting schedules rather than the collapse of civilization over a year ago. "Nice ring, _aniki_." 

"Fuck off," Hoshino laughs, nevertheless pausing to admire the engagement ring. "Still can't believe she said yes, you know? Can't be official just yet, but soon enough."

Amano fakes a gagging noise. "Keep that mushy shit away from me. I'm single for a reason."

"Soon enough," Hoshino parrots with an exaggerated wink. Amano rolls his eyes.

Behind them, the silent man finally clears his throat. "I hate to interrupt, but…"

Hoshino starts. "Yeah, of course. Amano, this-" He gestures towards the tall man. "- Is my roommate. Miyasaki, this-" He gestures towards Amano. "-Is a creepy stalker who has dedicated his body to me."

"He _means_ ," Amano interrupts before the poor stranger gets the wrong idea. "That I've been a fan of his work for a long time, and he's the only one I trust to do my ink."

Miyasaki takes a moment to process this, then gives a light laugh. "Good to know."

* * *

**Yuri Miyasaki**

**Ultimate Swordsman**

* * *

Even without the e-Handbook, it’s not difficult to identify the stranger as the Ultimate Swordsman - mostly because there’s a scabbard at his hip. He’s tall and slim, with long purple hair that must be a source of envy for women everywhere. His outfit is plain: black tunic and trousers, and simple leather boots. His appearance and movements emanate the elegance of a dancer, but the deep, faded scar on his cheek is a chilling reminder that Miyasaki is deadly. 

“So you’re Amano-kun.” Like everything else about him, Miyasaki’s voice is soft but sure. He politely inclines his head towards Amano. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Hoshino-kun speaks very highly of you.”

Amano returns the bow. He hasn’t been in polite company for a long time, especially with company that is so - well, polite. “That’s good to hear. Since Hoshino seems to like you, I’m sure we’ll get along too.” 

He turns to address Hoshino, who is already rummaging through his overflowing box on one knee. Talk about work ethic. “You guys need any help with this party planning shit?”

Hoshino waves dismissively. “Nah, we’re good here, right, Miyasaki?” The swordsman nods in affirmation, and takes the question as a cue to begin opening a bag of fairy lights. 

“Tell you what,” Hoshino continues, idly examining a small confetti cannon. “Run down to the restaurant and check on the girls for me. I asked them to see what kinda food they could scrounge up, but I think they might’ve gotten distracted with taste-testing.”

“They’re not distracted.” Miyasaki wrinkles his nose in distaste. He’s taken one end of the string of fairy lights and, thanks to his height, is attaching it to one corner of the roof with little difficulty. “I daresay they’re more interested in eating than helping us.”

Hoshino shrugs, not at all put off by the blunt comment. “Then I guess Amano can decide on the menu.”

Amano rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish chuckle. “You know I lived off instant ramen and street food even before the Tragedy.”

“And saké and fizzy drinks, I know.” Hoshino rises to his feet and points the confetti cannon at Amano, a sly grin on his oblong face. “Now get going, or you’ll be washing this shit outta your hair for the next few days.”

Amano practically leaps off the bandstand. Hoshino, that bastard - he _knows_ that Amano takes good care of his hair. It’s an eye-catching colour that complements his skin, adds an inch to his height, and feels pretty great when pulled. Not like that last point matters, because he’s hardly about to get laid in a goddamn Killing Game.

“The restaurant is that way,” Miyasaki says helpfully, pointing south with his free hand.

So Amano sets off down the path, making sure that Hoshino sees Amano flipping him off. Unlike the path from Monokuma’s office, this one leads to a conveniently signposted junction: left for the restaurant, right for the clinic, and straight ahead for the male dorms. Amano considers stopping by his room for a quick nap, then remembers that he might bump into Kurihara there. He’d nap later.

The restaurant is a two-storey building, with a compact outdoor seating area beneath a beige awning. The table holds an unlit candle and a small vase with a single flower, and the four chairs have cushioned seats. It’s a peaceful image, ruined entirely by a screech of laughter from within the building.

“Your face!” shrieks a delighted voice. “I can’t even- Nope! Nope! You’ve gotta finish it! Don’t-!”

Something heavy drops to the wooden floor with an audible thud. Rushed footsteps head deeper into the restaurant, and a door slams. 

“What a shame…”

Too curious to simply listen anymore, Amano parts the beaded curtain in the doorway and steps inside. There’s more than enough seating for sixteen hungry people, with stools, couches, and even a rocking chair in one corner. The lighting is dim and tinted orange, complementing the flickering candle on the occupied table.

There’s a bunch of dishes on the table, including a bowl of natto, some shirako sushi, a few slices of goya, and nankotsu on a skewer. Exactly one bite has been taken from each dish, so it’s difficult to tell which one had sent someone running for the bathroom. The thud from earlier could be attributed to the chair lying on the floor, and the obnoxious laughter to the woman sprawled out happily on a two-seater couch.

Amano immediately notices a few things about this woman:

  1. There are strings of tinsel woven through her grey-green braids (Why?)
  2. The sleeves of her T-shirt have been cut into strips with coloured beads tied on intermittently (Why?)
  3. Her leggings, patterned with chains and flaming skulls, are somehow perfectly compatible with her aesthetic (Seriously, why?)



* * *

**Emiko Furata**

**Ultimate Yoga Student**

* * *

“Oh, it’s Katsuhito-kun!” Furata chirps, greeting him with an enthusiastic wave. “Come sit with us! Or just me, I guess…”

Amano scratches the back of his head. He’s pretty sure he’s never met her before. Perhaps she’s a fangirl? But it’s not like lawnmower racing gets anyone fangirls, so…? 

Furata pushes herself up with both arms, cocking her head curiously as she surveys him. Even in her slightly hunched position, it’s clear that she’s somewhat lacking in the chest department. It’s not ideal, but it’s not a deal-breaker either.

She cocks her head in the other direction, and the sudden movement catches Amano’s attention. Her eyes are a murky shade of blue, but they seem brighter beneath her pale bangs. 

“That’s a shame...” Furata pouts, flopping back onto the couch. Flinging an arm over her face, she gives a long, dramatic sigh. “And here I thought the attraction was mutual.”

It takes an uncomfortably long moment for Amano to formulate a response. “I’m just confused ‘cause I don’t even know you,” he points out defensively. “Do you know me?”

“Nope,” she replies cheerfully, sitting up once again. He has no idea how someone with this much energy succeeded as a yoga student. “So I guess introductions are in order.”

She stands up and gives a lively bow, her three braids flying into the air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you! I’m your new best friend, the beautiful and kind yoga teacher, Emiko-chan~”

Amano raises an eyebrow. She’s a little overbearing, which he really should’ve guessed by that obnoxious laugh he’d heard from outside. “Right. Well, I’m Amano the lawnmower racer. Nice to meet you, _Furata_.”

Furata scoffs and once again flops back onto the couch. “Whatever.”

“Whatever,” Amano parrots, then finishes the shirako sushi in one bite. It’s not bad. “Anyway, who was it that ran off to puke their guts out?”

Furata’s eyes widen a fraction, as if she’d entirely forgotten about her companion. “Oi, Pearl-chan!” she hollers, craning her neck as if to project her voice further. Amano grimaces. “You didn’t ditch me, did you?”

Somewhere behind him, a toilet flushes. Amano turns around, noting the stairs labelled ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ and the two nondescript doors beneath them. One door opens with a click, and out steps one of the most notorious criminals from before The Tragedy.

* * *

**Pearl Hardin**

**Ultimate Gunslinger**

* * *

“Yeah, I totally just flushed myself down the toilet,” remarks the Bandit Queen in stilted Japanese, her arched brows further stretching the grievous scar across her face. Her fingers dance along the twin holsters (both containing revolvers!), at her waist. “If we’d met under different circumstances, you’d have a bullet through your head by now.”

Amano winces, but Furata just laughs like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever heard.

“Aw, Pearl-chan,” she whines playfully, propping herself up on an elbow to help herself to some natto. “Give it time. You’ll get used to Japanese delicacies soon enough.”

"Maybe I don't wanna get used to it," Pearl retorts, plonking herself down on a nearby salon chair. She kicks the ground with her cowboy boots and sends herself spinning. "God, what a shitty situation."

Amano hadn’t quite known what to expect after seeing the gunslinger’s name on the student roster. The woman who’d united every gang in the southern US and became the ruler of the greatest criminal empire on her continent, the teenage girl who topped the Most Wanted list in her country, taking part in a Killing Game? If Monokuma’s rules allowed it, she’d end them all in a heartbeat.

In a sick sort of way, he's curious about how she'd deal with their situation. A professional killer would have no problem with Monokuma's demands, but how would she cope with a trial? She'd be the prime suspect in every case just because of her reputation. If she'd been hoping to fly under the radar despite her talent, it'd be impossible if she continues wearing that feathered cowboy hat.

Pearl's spinning chair suddenly comes to a halt. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees and steepling her fingers beneath her chin, and gives Amano a sultry look.

“Not bad, is he?” she says airily, with a hint of that infamous southern drawl. Her brown eyes twinkle dangerously. “Good build, decent height, knows his place. What do you think, Furata?”

“‘Knows his place?’” Amano sputters. He’d fallen a long way since his glory days.

“Not bad,” Furata agrees, ignoring him completely. Her brows pucker thoughtfully as she eyes Pearl. “You want him then?”

“Nah,” drawls Pearl, leaning back in her chair. “I like my men how I like my women. He’s all yours.”

“Do I get a choice in this?” Amano protests weakly.

The women just laugh. Amano decides that he understands Miyasaki’s distaste for them, and the thought of Miyasaki suddenly reminds him of his task. He doesn’t particularly feel like asking the girls for anything, so he heads upstairs to investigate alone.

As expected, it’s a kitchen. There’s more equipment here than he could possibly name, and everything has been scrubbed clean till they sparkle. A row of closed lockers line the back wall, and against the front wall is a long table covered by a pure white cloth.

Amano is immediately drawn to what looks to be a self-order kiosk sitting right at the top of the stairs, its current display simply offering a choice between Japanese and English. There is also a convenient text-to-speech function for both languages, because Monokuma is just that considerate.

A search bar appears at the very top of the screen, and the remainder is taken up by options for every type of cuisine the world has to offer. The cluttered display is quite overwhelming, but Amano is a simple man and orders a yakisoba-pan without a second thought. The next option is to select when he wants it, from ASAP to 24 hours later. Amano selects the first option.

What happens next is… odd, to say the least. Three of the locker doors spring open, and from each one emerges a Monokuma unit in an apron. Their movements are stiff, mechanical, as they methodically begin preparing his dish. Amano’s e-Handbook buzzes once, and a timer indicates that his yakisoba-pan will be done in ten minutes.

It’s about 17:26 now, so Amano quickly orders a bunch of his favourite dishes to be ready by 19:00. The remainder of the Monokumae emerge from their lockers and get to work. Amano watches them in mild fascination until one of the Monokumae places his yakisoba-pan on the long table and returns to work.

Amano heads downstairs with his food and a glass of water, relieved yet somewhat disappointed to find that the girls had left, and takes the nearest seat to the door. There’s a little window nearby that overlooks the outdoor seating area, and he sees Furata and Pearl strolling away without a care in the world. Amano turns back to his meal with a scoff.

He’s hungry, he’s comfortable, he’s relatively safe - yet for some reason, he can’t quite bring himself to pick up the yakisoba-pan. The mouthwatering smell reminds him of days long past: nights out with Kubo and the other boys they’d lived with, spending their meagre earnings on cheap food, cheap drinks, and cheap girls. Time was a blur, just an endless cycle of working and drinking and sleeping.

Then came the Tragedy. First went Tokyo, then Yokohama, then Osaka. Airin-chiku had been burned to the ground. So many people died in the blaze, and even more in hospital afterwards. That day, if he hadn’t… If he hadn’t…

“Amano-senpai…?”

The faint, familiar voice takes a second to reach him. He looks up with a shaky smile, discreetly wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. His hands are trembling.

Nemo stands in the doorway, her blue eyes wide as she regards him nervously. The beaded curtain has knocked her sailor hat askew.

“Ah, Nemo,” he says, perhaps too loudly. He pushes his plate across the table. “You want a yakisoba-pan? I haven’t touched it.”

The young girl shuffles on the spot, doing her best to avoid eye contact with him. “Um… Hoshino-senpai asked me to… to check on you…”

“That’s a no, then,” Amano surmises. He stands up, wiping his damp hands on his cargo jeans. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll go find Hoshino now.”

“O-okay…” Nemo looks around as if seeking a distraction, but finds nothing. “I’ll… see you later…”

She ducks through the curtain before he can reply.

Amano runs a hand through his hair. His empty stomach churns uncomfortably, but he still can’t quite bring himself to eat.

In the end, he just downs his water and sets off for the garden. Hoshino seems to have his head on straight. Maybe his company is just what Amano needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I've done everyone justice so far.
> 
> In case you can't tell, I hate writing descriptions.


End file.
